


you always knew what you're in for

by valvet



Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: Catholic Guilt, Cornelius Hickey Is His Own Warning, Gen, Hand Jobs, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Religious Imagery & Symbolism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-26
Updated: 2020-12-26
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:01:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28330569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/valvet/pseuds/valvet
Summary: "Instead, the trap caught him, no corner untouch no man left satisfied, he felt hand to his chest, it pressed into him and felt like everything he despised, all the nights spent awake awkwardly grinding himself like a fiend until his own body would stop."
Relationships: Cornelius Hickey/John Irving
Kudos: 8





	you always knew what you're in for

Darkness never felt comforting ever in John’s life, not even in the confines of a church hall or in confession, it would gnaw and claw at his sides, bring chills to his back and rip out his throat at any word he’d speak. Even the times he’d close his eyes, he felt his stomach churn, even more so when he’d sit in his cabin at night; the creaks and shuffling from beside him. It was  _ sick _ .

How could any man stomach it? All Leviathans are covered in black, bright white teeth that swim through the ocean from which he sits. The only source of light ever being his own prayers, but even then…the faint noises of the other men -- beasts walking about, _ touching  _ and -- 

Cornelius Hickey came to mind every time he was in the dark, that rat-faced man who’s smug grin would haunt his eyes, how much pride could a man have before the Lord would smite him? How much sin could a man devolve himself in before it would catch up with him? John didn’t want to see it when it happened perhaps, but he wished it (it was out of retaliation did he do it, for a man can look at another and see himself in them), Mr. Hickey would crash and burn, as they all did eventually. 

But his eyes, his teeth didn't leave him be in the meantime -- no, they mocked him, he was close enough to him to make it almost unbearable, the escape he’d have from his wicked deeds would never solve it either. The frigid cold shouldn’t have felt so comforting, it should be the worst thing a man could have on such a trip, but that rat -- he sank his teeth into everything he had, and all for what? A laugh? Some sick perverse pleasure a man like him would get out of watching a good man squirm? 

Even now, as John Irving, a lieutenant, a man who should be given respect, he thought about it in the loud dark, why? Had he done something wrong? Every Night he’d pray to the Lord to save them all, from their own sins, but mostly for Mr. Hickey’s sake, for it to finally  _ end _ . For that trap to snap shut on his tail and let him live in peace, to have a day without a reason to look down at his own shoes and ponder his own faith, his own sanctity and purity as a good man. 

Instead, the trap caught him, no corner untouch no man left satisfied, he felt hand to his chest, it pressed into him and felt like everything he despised, all the nights spent awake awkwardly grinding himself like a fiend until his own body would stop. 

No words had to be exchanged to know who it was, a rat has a certain scent that it can always be figured out from miles away, his hands were like ones of a spider, thin and wrongful, made to take apart and give injury. 

_ “You had it coming” _ He could hear his father, long since passed from his own undoing,  _ “Your vices are always counted higher than your virtues after all” _ Every vice counted through tens, and your virtues in decimals.

His hands moved down, to where he never thought about, even in the dark, John could see his teeth, that smile that made his cock stand up -- he gritted his teeth and felt his blood boil, but at the same time, tears form up; it was his fault -- but was it? He was an officer, he should be able to stop it --

But what if he didn’t? A vile thought came over his brain at that moment, to let him do away with him, it hurt not to be relaxed -- the spider had marked him with a web that could never be undone now, and it was better to wait for death than injure yourself more.

It was a horrible thought -- every denomination of a Christian could agree but…

A moan escaped his lips when Hickey began to stroke him, hellish, sinful of him but..it felt good, nonetheless, the air around him grew tight, it was vile, and he liked it. The inside of his mouth hurt so much, it shouldn't have mixed so well with the pleasure that rat -- that man of Satan himself was giving him, he  _ should _ hate this, it was his God-given right to do it after all.

John had only had one lover before, and that was only in his dreams, the man had no face really, only the idea of eyes (so many of them), his hands were tender like a woman’s, but a man -- he’d wake up with tears running down his face and gasping sobs clouding his breath, a wet stain in his pants after.

_ “John,”  _ it would say to him,  _ “my angel, tha gaol agam ort _ _ ” _

Hickey’s hands were soft in a way, but spoke and rubbed in sin, used to commit atrocities against God -- but they were talented in a strange way. All that sin does things to a man. 

His body couldn’t resist, his own animalistic urges that man had sense repressed came as well as he did, and Hickey said nothing, but he knew that he knew what he had done to him, soiled him, and brought him down through his sin.

The door would close many minutes later, and John would stay awake for the rest of the night, he’d take his own personal sin, this feeling in his stomach and heart to his grave, not even God would see it. He  _ couldn’t _ see it, the next day he’d spend washing his hands, over and over and over, but that feeling, that mixed gut he’d get at the sight of Hickey, would never leave.

**Author's Note:**

> happy holidays you fuckers


End file.
